Why I Love My Dental Hygienist




Yes, it’s a photo of me and my cat but I had no other to post with this title.

I went to the dentist today and this is noteworthy because, like many people, I dread going to the dentist and I always feel like I deserve a round of applause for scheduling a check up and a cleaning.

My dentist poked and prodded my teeth and gums and took two x-rays and then declared that I am all-righty except that I have abrasions on my teeth that would indicate that I  grind them at night.

“Do you think you grind them at night?”  he asked.  I have to say that I’m stumped.  I feel as though I’m awake half the night anyway so I’m not sure if or when I grit my teeth.  Perhaps between the hours of 12 and 3 or 4 and 5.  Other than that, I lay in bed awake, listening to the foxes bark and the dog snore.  (But this is a whole other story or another time. )

I was then sent to the hygienist, who welcomed me into her sanctum with a big smile and and a fluffy pillow that she tucked beneath my head.

We began.  It all started innocently enough with a few comments about current events and observations and in no time at all we lost in conversation.  Rather, I was nodding and grunting while she worked on  my teeth.

It turns out that my dental hygienist is a real lefty-loosey political observer and she has very strong views, indeed.  She spoke with passion and conviction and as she did so she fervently rasped and scraped every bit of — anything — on my teeth and power polished them with fury.

I didn’t feel a thing and time flew while I was with her.  My teeth are smooth and white and it was the most dreadful and wonderful experience, if you know what I mean.




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